


Moo

by Qzil



Series: SPN Rarepair Bingo [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lactation Kink, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzil/pseuds/Qzil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of them were sure how it happened, or which one of them had done it, but she was pregnant with either a cambion or the first half angel, half demon child in existence. And she fully planned on killing whichever one of her lovers were responsible for her current predicament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN rarepair bingo square 'suckling'

Meg sighed and sank into the couch, grateful to be off her feet. Small tendrils of pain had been creeping up her back for the last hour as she paced around the bunker, angry that she had been left behind for something as simple as a routine salt and burn. Castiel had tried to comfort her, going so far as to stay behind and keep her company, but she had only snarled and snapped until he’d retreated to the library. Meg had heard him mumbling about pregnancy hormones as he went, and then heard his yelp as she hurled a book at his head. 

She hadn’t intended to hit him. Not really. She was just so _frustrated_ that she’d felt the need to do _something_ physical. She was mere weeks away from her due date, and her boys had begun treating her like glass because of it, refusing to let her go on even simple missions and doing things like refusing to let her carry anything heavy and regulating her diet. 

When Sam had announced the salt and burn, Meg had been ready to go, just to do something fun, and had even gone so far to point out that she was a demon and could handle far more than a human woman could. In return, Sam had pointed out that she could no longer tie her shoes without help from one of them, and that had been the end of that. 

She indulged Sam and Castiel to a point, because she loved them, everything else be damned. She even indulged Dean, because she was strangely fond of him, too, and although he pretty much hated her, he was excited about potentially becoming an uncle. 

In fact, she was glad he was excited. The baby would give him something to be glad about when she killed either Sam or Castiel for knocking her up in the first place. 

None of them were sure how it happened, or which one of them had done it, but she was pregnant with either a cambion or the first half angel, half demon child in existence. And she fully planned on killing whichever one of her lovers were responsible for her current predicament. 

Just as soon as she stopped hurting all over and could see her own toes again. 

Meg sighed again and shifted, trying to get comfortable. The pain had settled low in her back, but her ankles and breasts had also begun to throb. When she’d squeezed her own nipples that morning, she’d found that milk was already beginning to leak from them in preparation for the baby. Sam, who had read all the pregnancy and baby books that she’d pointedly ignored, had told her it was perfectly normal. Some women’s milk came in earlier than others. He’d reminded her that every human body and every human pregnancy was unique. She’d reminded him that she’d had plenty of babies back when she was a stupid human and she knew all that already, thank you very much. 

It didn’t help that Castiel, who was absolutely clueless about how modern human babies worked, had picked up her breast pump and asked if she required assistance milking herself when the child came. Meg had thrown her breast pump at his head. 

“Are you in pain?” Castiel asked, creeping back into the room. Meg shot him a glare, but nodded when she saw the hurt-puppy look he was giving her. He was incredibly adept at puppy eyes, and always had been, ever since the mental hospital. 

“My ankles hurt. My back hurts. My boobs hurt. My ass is the size of a mountain and I’m thinking about just ditching this vessel and finding a new one after the brat slithers out,” she confessed. 

“Crowley sealed you inside your vessel,” Castiel reminded her.

Meg stiffened. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Before Castiel could say anything else, they heard the bunker’s door open and the sound of two sets of feet drifted toward them. A moment later Sam and Dean appeared, covered in dirt from head to toe. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean singsonged. Meg glared at him and tried to twist around on the couch, but was hampered by her swollen belly. 

“You should put your hair up,” she said instead when she saw how dirty Sam’s hair was. “You’ve got dirt in it. Again.”

Sam self-consciously ran his hands through his dark brown hair and frowned. “Hi, my day was good. How was yours? Did you wind up taking that nap?”

“No, I did not nap. Your little bastard kept kicking me.”

Castiel frowned and sat down on the couch next to her. “Meg, you should not call him or her a bastard. Besides, we’re not entirely sure that Sam is the father yet.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Sam came and sat down on the other side of her, putting his hand on her belly. She’d taken to wearing both his and Castiel’s shirts during the pregnancy, since hers no longer fit, and was mostly stuck in sweatpants now. She’d chosen one of Sam’s old shirts that morning, a red plaid that smelled strongly of him, and the baby had seemed more active that day. 

“Kicking is a good sign,” he informed her. “It means the baby’s healthy.”

“It’s a pain in my ass,” she snapped. “I hate this stupid body. Everything hurts.”

“Why don’t we have Dean make you some comfort food and I’ll rub your shoulders?” Sam offered. 

Meg started to open her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but reconsidered when he shifted his hand up to her shoulder. He was so incredibly warm that she found herself sinking into his touch without meaning to. 

“Cas can take my ankles,” she said, awkwardly maneuvering herself so Sam could slide in behind her on the couch. Castiel dragged the ottoman over and she plopped her foot into his lap. 

“I’m gonna hop in the shower and then I’ll make some dinner,” Dean said. Sam waved at him and began massaging Meg’s shoulders while Castiel gently pressed his thumbs into her ankles. After a few moments, Meg sighed happily and closed her eyes. Sam’s hands were warm, and he put just enough pressure on her shoulders and back to take away the pain. Castiel’s hands were slightly colder, but she could feel his grace just barely brushing her skin. Normally, it would’ve caused her pain to feel it, pain that she would’ve invited and loved if they were in the bedroom. But in this case, it warmed her skin like a heating pad. 

Moaning, Meg sank back into Sam’s hands. She could feel herself drifting, and was almost asleep when something wet and warm leaked onto her shirt. Cursing, she sat up and put her hands to her front. “Ah, fuck.”

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked. “Have you gone into early labor?”

“No. I just squirted milk on my goddamned shirt.” Clumsy from being tired, Meg struggled to undo the buttons, snarling when Sam reached to help her. “I can unbutton my shirt, thank you.”

“It’s my shirt,” Sam calmly pointed out. He frowned when he pressed a hand against her chest. “You’re not wearing a bra?”

“Of course not.”

“Castiel and I did buy those pads, you know.”

“I’m not going to wear those until I start actually breastfeeding. Besides, it’s only just started. There’s only a little bit. And, no, I don’t need to be milked,” she added when Castiel looked curiously at her chest. “I’m not a damn cow.”

Sam finished unbuttoning her shirt and pushed it aside to reveal her breasts. They had swollen, just like the rest of her, and the nipples had darkened with her pregnancy so they were no longer a rosy pink, but darker, almost brown, and larger. When she glanced down, she could see a small bead of milk clinging to the left one. 

Sam moved away from behind her and bowed his head. He growled playfully and grinned at her. “Moo.”

She gave him a good-natured push. “No _moo_. And don’t touch them. They’re sensitive as hell. And after this I can look forward to chapped nipples and this thing in me crying and shitting around the clock.”

“That’s a depressing way to look at it,” Castiel said. Meg quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“You offered to _milk_ me.”

“Well, he’s not wrong. It helps alleviate the pressure,” Sam pointed out. “In fact…”

“Neither of you are milking me,” Meg protested. “Again, I am not a goddamned cow.”

“I’m not going to milk you,” Sam promised. “Not really.”

Before she could protest again, Sam lowered his head to her breast and sealed his lips over her nipple. He gently sucked on it while he raised one hand to her breast to massage it. 

Meg winced at the feeling, but relaxed into it after a moment as Sam gave another pull and her milk began to flow. Gradually, the ache in her breast relaxed, and Meg tangled her hand in Sam’s hair to keep him pressed against her. When she looked, she saw Castiel watching them with a look of fierce concentration on his face. 

“Come here,” she demanded. “Do the other one.”

 _“Now_ you want us to milk you?” Castiel asked. Meg shot him an annoyed look. “Meg, we are not children. Drinking your breastmilk provides no nutritional value to us.”

“Just come here.”

Castiel hesitated, but crept onto the couch to sit on her free side, anyway. Unlike Sam, he bit when he sealed his mouth over her other nipple, causing her to hiss. Sam raised his head. 

“Gentle,” he instructed. 

He lowered his head again, and Castiel let up on the teeth. Meg sighed happily and settled back onto the couch. Sam put his hand on her stomach, and she felt the baby give a kick. 

“Feel better?” Sam asked when he’d drained her breast. He sat up and pulled her to his side, dislodging Castiel with a slight pop. He glared at Sam and reattached himself until that breast was drained as well, and then settled down with his head resting on her belly. 

“Yeah. They don’t hurt,” Meg muttered. “But we should probably not do that again. It’s a little creepy.”

“You’re a demon. Demons _are_ creepy,” Sam muttered. 

“Maybe I’m going soft. Hey, Clarence, I think you’re the one who knocked me up. Only explanation for why I would be going soft. Can you feel any grace in there?” Meg asked. 

“If I could, I would not tell you,” Castiel answered. “We wanted to be surprised, remember?”

Dean poked his head into the room. “Hey, if you three are done doing weird shit, dinner’s ready.”

Meg groaned and tried to pull herself off the couch, huffing when she was unable to keep her balance and wound up falling back onto the cushions. 

“Just so you know, I’m still pissed at whichever one of you did this,” she said when Sam and Castiel each took one of her hands and helped her up. Meg shrugged out of her shirt and expectantly looked at Castiel. “Sam’s is dirty and mine’s still wet.”

He obediently unbuttoned his shirt and wrapped it around her, helping her button it back up. He was shorter than Sam, but the shirt was still much too large for her, the sleeves falling past her fingers. 

“I’ll fetch you some socks,” Castiel offered. “You shouldn’t be walking around without them. The floor’s too cold.”

Meg watched him go, sighed, and turned to look at Sam. “I think he’s still mad I threw the breast pump at his head.”

Sam smiled. “Moo.”

“Moo,” she echoed, and allowed Sam to help her toward the kitchen.


End file.
